


A Destiny to Shape

by Sorshania



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arlathan, Dökkálfar | Dokkalfar | Dark Elves, F/M, Gen, Pre-Thedas, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorshania/pseuds/Sorshania
Summary: Long before Thedas, before Tevinter and the fall of Arlathan, the world was called Amalur. In the mist of a war opposing Immortals to Mortal, a young Sentinel meet a Champion. A Champion with the power to change, everything.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at crossover (that is not a RP) and my first try at world building.  
> I will update the tags as I go along.
> 
> A HUGE THANK YOU to @bearly-tolerable and @puppygen for accepting to beta-read.
> 
> Translation for Sagrell's words will be at the end of each chapter

“ _Venavis_. You are unlike the other invaders.”

Abelas looks down at them, this strange group that took the time to complete Mythal’s trials rather than follow the others down the chasm. The leader draws his attention and he quickly notices the familiar magic coming out of her, the features of the mortals who claim to be Elvhen and the vallaslin that covers her left eye. She stares back at him, cautious but unafraid, and he remembers an old friend who also took her fate into her own hands, changing everything as she did so. He’s happy his cowl hides his small smile.

The first time he saw her, he was a guest in the House of Ballads.

At the time, the young Elvhen, who would later be known as Abelas, was still a novitiate and pledged in the service of Mythal. He had followed his mentor Faervel to meet with Hallam the White, the Chamberlain of Summer Fae House.  The war in the East, a faction of the immortal Faes of the Court of Winter calling themselves the Tuatha Deon opposing all the mortal races, had been raging for the last two decades and its effects now reached the rest of the kingdom the mortal races called Amalur. At first, the Order didn’t want to intervene, as it rarely did when mortals were concerned. But something, something no one could have predicted had happened. And they all felt it. 

The Order soon learned the heroes of the Court of Winter had not awakened to avenge the murder of their King. Their songs had somehow been altered. This had never been heard of before. Then, they received word that the Tuatha had moved further inland and deep into the West. Yet, they kept to the shadows, never attacking the towns but still corrupting the land with red prismere crystals that sprouted from the Earth. The Order was still investigating what had caused the Allestar Tower to cave in when Faervel received the letter from a friend of old. Abelas had no idea what was in the letter, or who even sent it, except that it was the reason why he ended up at the House of Ballads with his mentor, only to find the place in turmoil.

Abelas glanced at the older Elvhen male walking alongside Hallam, also known as the Storyteller, a few steps ahead of him. He still did not understand why one of the oldest members of the Sentinels order had requested his presence. While he had not hid his wish to one day be a part of the esteemed organization, Faervel’s decision to make him his apprentice was surprising, scary and humbling. All at the same time.

Faervel stood tall as he walked beside the House’s Chamberlain. His hood was down, as a measure of respect, showing off his long white hair, braided in a myriad of small braids with the tips capped with a silver bead that echoed the highlights of his ceremonial armor. Like Abelas, his skin was very pale, nearly white in contrast to Hallam’s bluish skin.   

“These are troubling news, lethallin.” Hallam was saying as they made their way to the courtyard. “Especially in the light of our most recent bereavement, one even I cannot understand.”

“What happened? Has the Tuatha attacked your House?” Faervel asked.

“No, although I am surprised to hear they have ventured so far inland. No, what troubles me is a matter closer to the Court of Enchantments. A few days ago, Ser Sagrell had departed to face his legendary foe. But there was a twist in the story and, this time; Sagrell was bested by the Grave Thresh. Such an outcome has never happened before. And I do not know what to make of it.” The strange, toneless voice of the Chamberlain wavered a little and Faervel tilted his head in answer. The Thresh, a golem-like creature fashioned from tree, bones and magic, was indeed a powerful opponent but it was nothing the House’s favorite knight couldn’t handle.

The Fae were distant cousins of the Elvhen and immortal like them. They were not equipped to deal with change and uncertainty that had happened quickly since the return of magic to the younger races. Abelas was young by the measure of Elvhenkin and yet, he had already witnessed many of those changes. Mortals now treaded where immortals used to live, driving them further and further away. There were even some whispers about the Immortal races being doomed to disappear. Still, one Fae murdering its king was quite an event as they were forever repeating their stories, their songs, and they never changed. If one could do so and rise above all, unchallenged, it might hold a clue to explain what was happening around them.

“I will let you go back to your rooms. I must prepare the contest of selection for the replacement of Sagrell.” Hallam said, nodding to the two elves. Abelas bowed deeply, as a novitiate should, while Faervel simply nodded back. Hallam turned on his heels and walked through one of the leaf covered archways, leaving the two elves standing on the path.

Faervel stayed still for a moment, looking pensive as he processed what Hallam just told him.

“Do you think what caused the rise of Gadflow is also responsible for changing this Sagrell fellow’s song?” Abelas asked, unable to stay quiet much longer.

But his mentor only shook his head. “I do not know da’len. If it is the case, the power that can cause this might be greater than what we first expected.” And he frowned, as if to take the measure of such power. “But come now. Let us go to our rooms and see what tomorrow brings.”

************

The following day, Hallam met the aspiring contenders in the House’s main compound. Abelas watched as the Pledges gathered around. He could feel the excitement in the air but strangely not the fear. The Elvhen youth frowned slightly. It felt as if the Fae were only playing a role, not really caring the outcome, as if it was a dance they kept dancing without understanding the reason behind each step. He glanced at Faervel but his mentor’s expression was unreadable. The Elvhen’s blind eyes kept moving, following the threads of magic until Faervel’s golden eyes widened. Abelas would have missed his mentor’s sudden slight change of expression if he hadn’t been watching him closely.

“Da’len… Someone is approaching. Describe them to me.” Faervel’s voice was soft enough for only Abelas to hear. The young Elvhen looked back at the compound in time to see a slender figure tugging its hood back as she approached the gathered Fae, paying little to no attention to the outraged gasps and barbs thrown her way.

“A shemlen woman, Hahren. One of the Alfar I believe.” Abelas answered just as softly, noting the telltale pointed ears and big eyes of the mortal race that was often mistaken for the Elvhen.

“An Alfar? This is… unexpected.”

Abelas opened his mouth to ask what his mentor meant when Hallam’s voice rang through the place. “This is no place for you, Mortal.” The shock in the Storyteller’s voice was clear. “You would not, _could_ not understand. One of our heroes has fallen and his legend is now in peril. A seat in the House of Ballads cannot remain empty.”

The shemlen didn’t seem very impressed by the announcement, not that Abelas thought it would. Rarely did the Mortals concern themselves with the affairs of Immortals. The opposite was true as well. Thus, hearing her ask for more details was a surprise. Even more surprising, Hallam actually answered her.

“Why do you bother with the Mortal, Lord Hallam? They have no need to know of Fae’s affairs!” one of the Pledges shouted as Hallam finished telling the tale.

“I believe Ficon has a point. Why do you ask, for it does not concern one such as you.”

“I want to fill the seat, why else?” she answered, grinning. The proclamation was met with the collective gasps of the Fae assembled, something that amused her, judging by the slight widening of her grin.

“That is preposterous!” the pledge named Ficon sputtered. “No Dustling shall claim the seat of Ser Sagrell!”

“Then I don’t understand your worry, _Essundam_. Unless… You’re actually afraid I beat you to the prize.” She pointed out.

The pledge was about to reply when the horn signaling the start of the contest ran out inside the courtyard. All the participants ran toward the bridge heading outside the House of Ballads and Ficon followed last, after giving the Alfar one last scornful look.

She turned toward Hallam and looked at him expectantly. Abelas wondered for a second if she had been able to hear the horn’s call, for Fae Horns were reputed to be heard only by the Immortals.

“You are bold, mortal, but this is not how the stories are told in the House of Ballads.” Hallam conceded after a time. “Still, these are strange times. Magic wields itself in new patterns and change. It is something we Fae are not familiar to. If you so choose, you too may attempt to defeat the Great Thresh and recover Sagrell’s ring to claim his seat, in the House of Ballads.”

Hearing this, the woman simply nodded, pulled up her hood and ran up the bridge in pursuit of the other pledges. Hallam watched her go before turning around and entering the Court of Enchantment behind him. He crossed over the vast room to sit down, cross-legged, on the seat fashioned from roots and tree branches, on the top of small platform.

“Are you sure this is wise, old friend?” Faervel asked, climbing up the small stairs leading up to Hallam’s seat. “What if she succeeds? Would you actually entrust one of the House’s seats to a mortal?”

“I cannot say.” Hallam spoke slowly. “For the first time in a long time, I cannot predict the outcome of this. Still, if this is a consequence of what is happening to our cousins of the Winter Court, maybe having someone who understands change, as a member of the House, will help us deal with this situation.”

Hallam didn’t seem particularly convinced but Faervel didn’t push it. Instead, the elf just nodded and left the Chamberlain to his meditation. As he reached downstairs, he motioned Abelas to follow him outside.

The Courtyard was back to the way it was, as if none of the earlier event had happened. Fae squires tended the herbal gardens and the flower beds, as they did earlier this morning. Abelas was a bit surprised. He had expected the courtyard to be alive with conversation and speculation. Still, he could feel a sense of unease in the air.

“They are coping with the situation as best as they can.” Faervel explained, as if he read his apprentice’s mind. “Right now, all they can do is go through the motion they already know and hope it’ll be enough to weather the upcoming storm.”

Abelas hung his head, feeling a bit ashamed. He didn’t know his thoughts were so clear even a blind elf could pick it up. Faervel smiled softly and patted the young elf on the shoulder. “Something else is troubling you, da’len. What is it?”

“She… The Alfar, she just… ran off! Without any knowledge of where to find the Great Thresh and how to defeat it.” He sputtered, as if it was a great offense. He did not yet understand all the ramifications of what a change in a Fae ballad implied or its impact of the Fae. Still, to rush blindly into a potential combat was utterly foolish. Especially for a mortal! And what about conventions! One doesn’t accept a quest from the House of Ballads without asking for clarifications. Faervel’s reaction surprised him even more. Instead of agreeing, his mentor simply chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t worry about her, Abelas. I have a feeling she’ll manage just fine.”

“I-I am not worried, Hahren!”

“And here I was, wondering what trouble she had run into.” A sultry female voice said behind them, preventing Abelas’ protest. Both elves whirled toward the voice. Abelas blinked, unable to hide his surprise that a mortal could sneak behind him, unnoticed.

The voice belonged to another Alfar woman, this one with long dark hair and a light gray skin. “You still tread softly as the shadows, my friend.” Faervel said, looking slightly amused. Abelas glanced at his mentor, even more surprised. “Abelas, meet Alyn Shir, one of the Dokkalfar ambassadors. Alyn Shir, this is Abelas. You may call him my apprentice.”

Not knowing what to do or how to act, Abelas decided to bow low as he did in front of Hallam. He felt it was appropriate, given the respect his mentor gave the shemlen.

“Andaran atish’an, Abelas.” The Alfar responded in kind, adding the subtle hand gesture of the traditional Elvhen greeting. Truth be told, the young elf had not expected a child of dust to know such greeting. Maybe his mentor had taught the woman.

“I gathered you know of the woman that decided to claim one of the House of Ballads’ seats?” Faervel asked.

“Is it what she set up to do? By Lyria…” she shook her head. “I give her a simple task and there I found her putting her nose into business she shouldn’t mess with.”  She looked like she wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed or amused.

“Do you think there are any dangers, aside what one might expect from a Fae Ballad?”

“Knowing her, definitely. Not that it changes anything.” Alyn Shir smiled ruefully. “Well then, I better go and make sure she has something to eat when she arrives. She’ll probably be famished.”

“You don’t actually believe she’ll succeed?” Abelas blurted out.

They looked at him for a moment and he could feel his cheeks heat up. While the Alfar’s face was inscrutable, his mentor looked slightly disappointed.

“I do not know.” The woman said at last. “But if she does, it would not be the first time a Mortal   takes something that used to belong to the Faes, is it?”

“Alyn, is she...?” Faervel asked, stopping her as she was about to step inside the building on the right of the Court of Enchantments.

“Yes,” she said after a time and then she disappeared inside the building, leaving the two elves to ponder at her words.

 Faervel slowly headed back to their rooms, Abelas in tow behind him.

 “Abelas,” said Faervel as they stood in front of the door, “I would need to see the Alfar when she comes back.”

 “Hahren, do you actually think she could succeed? That she could actually come back alive?”

 “I know not. But stranger things have happened lately. If what I think is right, she’s probably more important than what we first believed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
>  _Essundam_ \- Immortal


	2. II

It would take three days before they heard back from the pledges. Only the Alfar woman came back. Some rumors would have believed she killed the other pledges to gain access to the seat, since most Mortals were treacherous. However, Hallam had sent discreet scouts to follow the trial and make sure everything was done properly. So it was on the morning of the third day that she showed up, bereft a good portion of her long white hair, an eye nearly swollen shut and limping a little. Still, she held herself with confidence as she met the Storyteller.

“Incredible!” Hallam exclaimed as she stepped inside the Court of Enchantments. “A Child of Dust has claimed the ballad of Ser Sagrell. Oh! What a tale you have taken for yourself, my friend.” He seemed genuinely happy for the outcome.  “Tell me, what name do you go by? It is not proper for me to keep on calling you ‘Mortal’.”

“Sagrell will be perfectly fine.” She assured him, smiling a little. “Good. Good… I am happy.” Hallam nodded. “I am afraid there is no time for celebration for you are needed again, Sagrell. But you need some rest first,” he continued, “I will have one of the squires show you to your room. Please, come and see me tomorrow.” He bowed to her and Sagrell responded in kind.

She turned around to find Galin standing right behind her. “If you would follow me, Sagrell. The Knights’ rooms are this way,” he said as he led her through one of the vine covered archways.

A river ran behind the three main buildings. Graceful bridges, that appeared to have grown from trees’ branches and roots instead of having been built, crossed over it. Knowing the Fae, Sagrell guessed the former was closer to the truth. “I did not know Fae actually slept. I always thought you just… meditate the fatigue away,” she told Galin as they walked over the one of the bridges.

“You are indeed correct, Sagrell. We keep rooms for our guests and for other… activities.” The Squire explained, just as a half-naked male Fae ran in front of them, laughing.

“Ha! You must be the mortal who claimed Sagrell’s seat!” the Fae said, clapping the Alfar on the shoulder. “Hm… You might want to go and check with the healer. *IF* you want to live to Ser Sagrell’s reputation, eh?” He laughed and patted the woman’s arm a couple of times before heading back to the other Fae that had been calling him.

Sagrell and Galin stood side by side as the male disappeared along with his friend. The Squire looked a bit displeased by the attitude of his fellow Fae. “I think I’ll go back to fighting Threshes…” she whispered. This earned her a slight upturn of Galin’s mouth.

“You will find Green, the Healer, in the Hall of Accolades, next to the Court.” He told her, as they continued walking the pathway toward where the rooms were located. “Here,” he said, stopping in front one of the doors. “These are Sagrell’s apartments. Do not hesitate to call me if you need anything, my Lady.” Galin bowed low before he turned around and walked away.

Sagrell watched him go, shrugged and pushed the door open. The room was average sized, with the bed, also fashioned from leaves and moss, taking up most of the place. A wooden console ran across the far wall, supporting a silver pitcher and a basin, as well as several decanters and crystal glasses. She stared at them for a second before shaking her head. “At least, my namesake knows how to party..” she muttered, falling headfirst onto the bed, too tired to take a potion or even take her boots off. She was fast asleep between one thought and the next.

************

Abelas walked along the pathways, hoping to clear his mind. His mentor had already retreated into reverie, that meditative, trance-like state in which Elvhen found their rest. However, rest eluded the young elf. He had heard the shemlen had come back victorious from her encounter with the Thresh. Not one, like in the original ballad, but three of them. He wondered if this was another sign of someone playing with the Tapestry of Fate. Still, he had not been able to meet the newly appointed Sagrell. She had been hiding in her rooms, resting, ever since she had returned. A sudden noise and a startled oath caught his attention. He stopped in the doorway where he heard the noises coming from to investigate. What he found was unexpected, to say the least.

The room was obviously dedicated for meal preparation and as a kitchen. The woman he was looking for was standing on the top of one of the counters. A bowl laid on the floor, upside down, its contents spilled around it. It was obviously the source of the noise he had heard. Abelas guessed she might have kicked it by accident when she tried to reach the upper cupboards.

He stared at her and she stared back. Neither spoke for a moment. “You know where they keep the cookie jar?” she asked, at last.

“T-The cookie jar?”

She nodded eagerly. “One of the squires told me I could find some cookies here.”

Now, that was a strange request and Abelas wasn’t sure how he would answer when he spotted a strange box with some foreign writing etched on its side. He pointed at it, hoping it was what she was looking for. She turned around to check and grinned. “Yes!” she shouted before proceeding to come down of the counter. Or tried to. Her rest seemed to have done her some good. She could already open her swollen eye for instance but a bruise was still visible on the top of her cheek. Her movements were also quite a bit jerky and stiff.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, stepping closer and holding out a hand. She stared at it, and he briefly wondered if he had inadvertently made a blunder until she nodded and took his hand.

“ _Za juic nasanlea_.” She said, once on the ground. “I thank you.” She translated when she saw he did not understand.

“Ah… You are welcome,” he replied.

Up close, she was smaller than he expected, barely reaching his shoulder. She was also more muscular and curvaceous than any female, Fae or Elvhen, he had met.

“I’ll need that hand back, if you please.”

“Ah!” Abelas quickly let go of her hand and took a step back, realizing he had been staring. She simply chuckled and walked away to grab the foreign box before heading to a small table in the far corner, upon which sat a mountain of food.

Abelas remembered the other Alfar woman mentioning the would-be Sagrell would likely be hungry when she’d wake up but this was ludicrous! She must have caught his bewildered look for she turned around and handed him an extra plate, clearly intending to share. He took the offered dish and sat down in front of her, too dumbfounded to mention he didn’t need to eat THAT much.

“So… What’s your name?” she asked after a time.

“You may call me Abelas,” he said, still looking at the amount of food she had put on their plates. “I’m guessing you are the one they now call Sagrell.”

“The only Mortal staying inside the Hall of Heroes? Not that difficult to guess.”

“I’m… I apologize… I meant…”

“It’s okay.” Sagrell waved her hand a little. “It’s a nice name. I’m happy to have it.”

They ate in silence for a moment.

“You’re not one of them Fae, are you?”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” he asked, smiling a little.

“The ears are a dead giveaway,” she answered, smiling back. “No, it’s… You don’t have the same… energy I would say, coming off of you,” she said slowly, trying to find the right words to explain how/what she felt.

Now, this was a surprise. Few among the Fae and the Elvhen could read the threads that bound all things, mortal and immortal, together.  To Abelas’ knowledge, Faervel was one of the few, along with the High King of Summer, that could perform such a feat. He himself was still learning how to differentiate the various flow of energy. To think a Child of the Dust… He shook his head, too stunned by the implications.

“Is that a ‘No, I’m not a Fae’ or a ‘You are wrong and just insulted me, my family and my whole lineage’-No?”

He snorted, surprised. “And if you have actually insulted my whole clan, what would you do?”

“Save the cookies! Then, it’s every Alfar for themselves!”

Abelas actually laughed, too amused by the mental image. Sagrell just smiled and took another bite. “You don’t have to answer, you know. I mean…”

“No, it is fine. My people are linked to the Fae but we are not like them. We call ourselves Elvhen.”

“Ah… Immortal too I’m guessing?”

“Yes.”

They continued to eat in silence. Abelas stared in disbelief as she not only finished her plate but started eyeing his too. “Are you sure you are not part Troll?” he asked, pushing his plate toward her.

“No idea. Maybe?” she said, reaching for the offered meal but stopped shy. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“No. It is all yours.”

She just smiled and simply switched his plate for hers. Abelas shook his head and chuckled. “What are you planning to do now?” he asked, somehow easily. It was strange this… familiarity.

“I have to speak with Hallam in the morning.” Sagrell answered. “He mentioned some task. Another story that got changed or something. Hey!” she said, nudging his leg with her foot when she saw him frown. “It’s okay, stories change you know.”

“Not these ones.” It was a statement. She just looked at him, chewing slowly. “It’s true!” Abelas said, a bit defensive, remembering what he was in the courtyard. “You’re the first change they saw in…” _Forever_ , his mind supplied him but he just trailed off.

“I guessed as much, _eteud_.” she pushed back her plate, half-finished. “It still doesn’t mean it’s right.”

He found he had nothing to say to counter it.

Sagrell broke the sudden silence by yawning hugely and rubbed her eyes.

“You are tired and I have kept you up.” Abelas said, standing up, happy to have an excuse to not pursue the discussion. “Come on. I will walk you back to your room.” It would be best to cut the evening short. There was no chance he would see her again, anyway.

Sagrell just nodded and also stood up. “We should at least clean up a bit…” she said. She was swaying on her feet. Exhaustion seemed to have caught up with her.

“I will take care of it.” He promised.

She nodded and let him drag her back to her room. She said nothing when they reached the doors to her chambers. She just smiled and squeezed his arm. Gently.

Abelas stopped again when he walked by the kitchen. He only hesitated for a moment, staring at the table where they ate, before crossing over and cleaning it up.

************

Sagrell woke up and looked around the room, feeling a little disoriented. It had been a while since she actually managed to get a good night of sleep, free of the whispers that had plagued her nightmares since she left Allestar Tower. She brushed her hair out of her face as she slowly recounted the steps of how she ended up as one of the Fae House’s knights. She had met Agarth, the old Fateweaver warrior, near the tower, and close to the town of Gorhath. The man had claimed she had no fate and no place in the Tapestry, and had dragged her to the Theater of Fate in Dellach to find more answers. He didn’t seem much happy about it but Sagrell had come along. If anything, it might explain how she ended waking up under that giant pile of dead bodies at Allestar. That amnesia thing was getting annoying. Especially with everyone claiming she was either dangerous or godlike, or both. And either wanting to kill her or use her. Even Agarth had started to behave strangely after she saved his life and broke the Fate rock. Granted, it got them the Codex of destiny, which she guessed was quite the find. 

She looked at the stone ball resting beside the silver pitcher, on the console. It was as big as her head, yet surprisingly light for a stone ball, with swirling lines carved into it. She could feel what she had dubbed ‘Fae Energy’ coming out of it, like waves. Made her nose tingle. It reminded her of the Fae talking monoliths she had encountered in the various regions of Dalentarth. She had a feeling she could find them scattered in all Amalur. Lorestones, they were called. Sagrell smiled a little. She liked listening to the stories the stones sang. She was curious to learn what wondrous tale that one held once – _if_ – they managed to crack it open. Still, Alyn Shir claimed someone at the House of Ballads could help them and Sagrell trusted her, for some reason. Maybe it was because they were both Dokkalfar but she felt a strong kinship whenever Alyn was concerned.

Sagrell sighed. The other woman would probably not be happy about her detour with the Thresh thing she thought as she got out of bed and stretched a little, wincing a bit at how stiff her legs still felt.  She splashed some cold water on her face and glanced at her reflection, grimacing when she realized she would have no choice but to go see the healer before doing anything else. Sagrell was getting a bit sick and tired of being poked and prodded by anyone and everyone. She grabbed one of the combs lying on the console’s top, brushed her hair and tied it up, tucking the damaged ends inside the bun. She idly wondered if she’d time for some breakfast before running off to whatever errand Hallam and Alyn Shir had planned for her. The Dokkalfar grinned, remembering her night meeting in the kitchen. It was the first time Sagrell ever met an Elvhen and she had a feeling they rarely come to Amalur, even if she could not remember where they originated from. He looked as lost as she felt, and yet had been willing to share his food with her. A bonus, in Sagrell’s opinion, and a sign of good breeding. She chuckled softly and went on to find Green, the healer, in the Hall of Accolades, in the House’s courtyard. She silently hoped to run by the mysterious elvhen again, just to learn more about him, of course.

************

Sagrell tilted her head this way and that to stretch her neck and rolled her shoulders. Green had done a good job, despite being strangely over concerned with her injuries. Maybe the Fae had just been over-eager but she was not used to seeing someone, anyone, fuss as much over what Sagrell considered to be a simple scratch.

“It could be dangerous; it could even get infected.” Green stressed as he poured more and more healing magic into one of Sagrell’s cuts.

Luckily, Alyn came to the rescue. While laughing her head off. Well, she didn’t really laugh. Merely smirked. But Sagrell would bet her best daggers the Dokkalfar lady was very amused by the situation.

They headed to meet with Glianal, the House’s antiquarian, who Alyn thought might be able to help with the Codex. The Fae was not very helpful, going as far as to claim they had brought him a forgery, albeit a very clever one. He then proceeded to forcefully send them on their way, claiming he would not be part of such travesty. Nothing Alyn or Sagrell could say would make him change his mind.

“Typical.” The Dokkaflar groused as soon as they were out of earshot from the antiquarian. “Loremaster Glianal prides himself on his knowledge of old stories but show him something truly new and he dismisses it. It’s tragic, really. Then again, Fae are not known to react well to change and you are definitely something new,” Alyn said after a time.

“What do we do now? I mean, who can help us but him? I’m not sure Hallam will not react the same way if we show him the Codex.”

“Then, I’m afraid we won’t have any choice but to ask the High King himself.”

“High King Titarion?”

“Ah. You have heard of him, I see. Good. Meeting him won’t be easy. His court lies within Ysa. Very few mortals are allowed in its gardens.”

“Great… Can’t I just use my new shiny title to meet him?”

“That would have been my first choice too, if the High King didn’t despise Sagrell and everything attached to him. You would have had better luck if you had claimed the seat of Hallam instead.”

“What?!” Sagrell lowered her voice quickly when she noticed the Fae that were tending the gardens around them, raise their heads in curiosity. “I am not going to steal Hallam’s seat for this.”

“And I am not asking you to do it, either,” Alyn whispered back, just as fiercely.

“Then, what do you propose we do?”

 “I know someone you can meet and who can grant you permission to enter. But you will have to meet him alone.”

 “Why do I have to meet him alone? You have a blood feud with him?”

 “Don’t be ridiculous. Nyralim is simply a private person. Who simply happens to carry a grudge against me.”

 “Oh… Nothing bad then,” Sagrell said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “I suppose it could be worse.”

 “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s nothing worse than you would have done.”

 Sagrell blinked, surprised. She had guessed the other woman knew her, Alyn never made a secret of it after all, but Sagrell had some trouble believing she would be the type of person that would actually be responsible for grudge or worse. It would be something one would keep on doing, even if they were having memory issues. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
>  _Za juic nasanlea_ \- Very formal form of "thank you"  
>  _Eteud_ \- Silly


	3. III

He didn’t know what to expect and was a little annoyed by how it had become his usual attitude whenever she was concerned. Alyn had mentioned that Sagrell was prone to stick her nose into people’s business but he surely had not expected this. Abelas stopped in Canneroc, fast on the tracks of the annoying woman, only to find the village still cleaning up the remains of what appeared to be a giant spiders’ attack. The villagers eyed him with caution as he crossed over the small bridge. “Halt!” one of the men shouted as Abelas reached about half of the bridge. He looked like he was the one in charge of the small militia. “I mean no harm. I am only looking for someone.” the Elvhen said, raising his arms slowly to show his empty hands. He had noticed this was often the best way to interact with shemlen. “I am looking for a woman. An Alfar woman.” he continued.

All at once, the villagers turned toward a young girl, standing by the doors of the village’s only inn. “What? I don’t know this man!” the girl protested. She was obviously an Alfar, her white hair was pulled back, showing her pointed ears, but her skin was a light purple. Clearly, she was one of the Ljosalfar.

“Ah… no.. Not that one.” Abelas tried to say but was rudely cut off by one of the men.

“What?! Our Alfar is not good enough for you?!”

“No! It’s…”

“I said I don’t know this man!”

“He said he needed an Alfar. Let’s give him this one! Good riddance I say!”

“The first one that touches Menri will answer to me!” It was one of the younger men who shouted, startling everyone, before he stood in front of the girl. The whole village was silent, even the young Alfar girl, who stared wide-eyed. “Billis..?” she asked softly.

The boy blushed, nearly matching his hair and beard, but he stood his ground and simply adjusted his grip on his hammer. “Forget it Menri. I will not let them sacrifice you to that Fae!”

“Ah… I am not a Fae.” Abelas pointed out, trying to be helpful but still fascinated by the drama unfolding in front of him. He wasn’t the only one. Everyone just stood there, watching the couple stare at each other and oblivious to anything else.

“Enough!” A voice rang out, shaking everyone back to reality. “No one is sacrificing anyone, and no one is killing anyone.” Abelas looked around, hoping to see it was the one he had been looking for but no. The voice belonged to a tall, red-haired and fair-skinned woman. The villagers grumbled a little, spoiled of the happy ending they were expecting. Even Abelas was feeling a little disappointed in not knowing the outcome.

“You have no authority here, healer.” The man who had stopped him growled.

“We’ll talk about that the next time you stand bare-ass in my office, Barten.” She turned toward Abelas. “What is it that you want, stranger?”

Abelas took a deep breath and lowered his hands slowly, relieved that someone was willing to listen to him at least. “I am looking for an Dokkalfar woman.” he said. “White hair, dark skin, silver eyes. Goes by the name of Sagrell.” He wasn’t sure what name she might have given the villagers but decided to take a chance.

“We know her alright. She went off to fight the Widow,” the woman said.

“The Spider Maid has awakened?” Abelas could not believe it; another story of the Fae had been changed. Barten hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and handed him what appeared to be a map of some sort. “She said she wanted to fight the Widow’s in her lair,” he told Abelas. “I’m sure she won’t mind some help. I’d go but it's best I stay here in case the spiders attack again.”

Abelas privately agreed. Barten looked like he was the only one with proper military training and the rest of the village would definitely benefit from his guidance in case of another attack.

************

Following the direction to the Widow’s lair had not been particularly difficult. In any case, the trail of spiders’ corpses would have clued him in. It looked like it had been quite a fight and he was a little disappointed he had missed it. He finally came to a small clearing just as Sagrell was coming out of the Hollow. “Why is it that each time I see you, you are covered with various gross things?” he called out and grinned when she whirled around, her daggers suddenly materializing in her hands. She visibly relaxed when she saw it was him. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you have some kind of kinks about Alfar women covered in the blood of their enemies. Or, corpsy bits.” Sagrell continued as she gingerly plucked what appeared to be some spider’s guts off her shoulder. Abelas couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression of disgust she made. The withering looks she gave him didn’t help either.

“Once you are done laughing at my expense,” she said, testily, “perhaps you can tell me what you’re doing here? I thought you were on your way to Ysa with Faervel.”

“I was. But someone was late in their meeting with the King so I was ordered to go back and look for them.”

“… You were ordered.”

“I… volunteered.” He confessed after a moment. Sagrell just looked at him, clearly surprised. He shrugged. “I was worried,” he said, a bit sheepish. Truth be told, when Faervel asked him about it, he had tried to explain what he was feeling was only concern for the Alfar’s safety. After all, Sagrell seemed to be the only one who could face whatever was happening in Faelands, more specifically Alabastra. Even the Storyteller seemed to think so. Faervel had merely smiled and told his apprentice to bring the woman safely to Ysa. “In any case, we should get going.”

“Ah… no.”

“What? What do you mean ‘No’?” No one said no to a Sentinel’s order. No one.

“I am not going. At least, not right now.”

“Sagrell…” There was a warning in his voice.

“Abelas, I have been fighting spiders, undead corpses, bandits and Fae for the last four days or so. I am not going anywhere until I have some sleep, food and a bath. Maybe not in that order.”

“We are going right now. I’ll hunt if you want and you can bathe in the river along the way. End of discussion.” He started to head back to the main road.

“Forget it. The only place I’m going to at the moment, is Canneroc. Hot meal, hot bath and sleep in an actual bed. This is not up for negotiation.”

He turned around to find her still standing in the clearing with her arms crossed as she stared back at him. He breathed slowly through his nose, trying to quell down the sudden flash of annoyance. Why was she making this so difficult? “Sagrell, we are expected, and we are leaving. Now.” he repeated as he walked toward her.

“No.” She still didn’t move.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No!”

“Sagrell…”

“I said; no.”

He was standing so close she was forced to tilt her head back to look at him. They stared at each other for a long time. “I will carry you there if I have to,” Abelas said at last.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I wouldn’t be happy, but I will if I’m forced to do it.”

Sagrell frowned and chewed her bottom lip as she mulled over what he just said. “You can try,” she said after a moment, “but you won’t get out of this unscathed.”

Fortunately, the ground shook at that very moment, preventing either of them to put threats in motion. “Watch out!” Sagrell shouted, pushing Abelas out of the way, as a crudok jumped out of the hole it had just dug.

“ _ Dypynhylg _ .” She swore softly as she pulled her sword out of its scabbard and readied her shield. Her daggers would not be enough against such a foe. Abelas stared at it. It was the first time he saw such a beast, outside his books. It was also much bigger than he expected [C1]  . He took out his hammer, not sure if magic could harm it. He just couldn’t remember what he had read. “Be careful. That thing is fast,” Sagrell said, moving slowly to the left. “If we circle it, we might have a chance.”

“Is it vulnerable to magic?”

“Not to my knowledge but, if you can, try to stun it.”

“ _ Fenedhis… _ ” He had not studied elemental magic. They would have to kill the beast with their weapons alone.

The crudok kept an eye on them as they moved around to surround it, its scorpion-like tail whipping whenever they tried to step closer to land a blow. Sagrell had been right; it was moving quite fast, its four powerful legs kept the beast out of harm’s way while it strike at them with his upper arms. The claws at the end of its paws were particularly vicious, as Abelas noted, when one of the blows landed on his chest, causing a dent in his armor. Luckily, there were two of them. Sagrell jumped on the creature’s back and dug on dagger blade between the armored plates on his back. The crudok roared and stood on rear legs, arching his back as its organic-like mask pulled back to reveal the gaping, fanged maw and the glowing, crazed eyes underneath. The beast lurched violently and managed to shake the Alfar off its back.

Sagrell broke down the fall with a roll but Abelas could see she was a bit shaken as she stood up. He slowly moved behind the creature, hoping to strike. The crudok growled, its mask still pulled back and she banged her sword on her shield in a clear act of defiance. “ _ Ahjuera acbèle ta clunbeuh tékéhèné _ !  _ Aceyoa t’éjedan m’bnulryeh _ !” The beast roared again, as if goaded by whatever Sagrell shouted at it. It happened in a flash. He couldn’t block the beast’s next attack in time.

Abelas felt more than he saw. The dart of the scorpion tail dug into the hole the claws had made. He could feel the poison dripping from it, corroding the armor’s metal and the padding underneath, before he felt it burrowing into the flesh of his shoulder. His arm just hung, limp from the poison coursing through his veins. The crudok used its tail to lift him slowly and soon, Abelas found himself staring helplessly at the inside of the beast’s maw. He could see the drool drip from the fangs as the creature almost purred. That purr turned into a sharp yelp as a rock hit the side of its head. They both turned to see Sagrell readying a rock for another throw. 

“That’s right,  _ cyma vemc ta bida _ ! Let’s dance!” The next rock hit the beast squarely on the forehead.

The crudok retaliated by spitting a long spray of fuming toxic, probably poison, at her. She had no choice but to bring her shield up to protect her face. It then whipped out its tail to throw Abelas to the other end of the clearing, before leaping at her, arms wide and claws ready.

Abelas tried to roll to cushion his fall, tried not to wince when his head knocked back sharply against some tree root, tried to get on his knees to get the beast’s attention. But he couldn’t do any of this. He could only lie there as the poison ate his flesh away. “Abelas!” He dimly heard Sagrell’s last shout, his eyes closing as his body went into shock.

The next moment, Sagrell was standing above him, slapping him. Hard. “Come on! Wake up you…”  The rest was lost in gibberish alfarian. Abelas grunted as he thought he would have enjoyed some more rest. Sagrells’s relieved laugh caught his attention however and he tried to open his eyes to show he was okay. “Don’t… Don’t move.” She pulled a small knife out from her belt and proceeded to saw off the straps holding his chest plate in place. He tried to grab her wrist but she simply pushed his hands away. He didn’t struggle; he was too weak to fight. His head rolled on the side and he frowned. He could see the crudok lying on its back. Dead. Split in the middle along its length.

“Abelas. Focus on me. Focus on my voice,” Sagrell said, grabbing his chin to turn his head toward her. She had managed to take the chest plate off and had pushed the cloak and padded shirt around, enough to press some kind of poultice against his wound. “Come on.” she said, helping him to sit up. She quickly wrapped some bandages around his chest before throwing his arm across her shoulders. “We have to go back to Canneroc. Hopefully, Syllareta will know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dypynhylg_ \- Alfarian swear word  
>  _Ahjuera acbèle ta clunbeuh tékéhèné! Aceyoa t’éjedan m’bnulryeh!_ \- Roughly: "That's right you messed up scorpio-wannabe! Try to dodge this one!"  
>  _Cyma vemc ta bida_ \- Dirty son of a bitch  
>  _Fenedhis_ \- Elvhen swear word


End file.
